


Vanilla Twilight

by orphan_account



Series: Beautiful Things [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Death, Human Names Used, M/M, Owl City, Sad, Songfic, possible ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wish you were here by my side again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vanilla Twilight

 

  _The stars lean down to kiss you  
_ _And I lie awake and miss you_

 The stars seemed beautiful on the outskirts of Paris, right on a little hill where you could see them in the distance. It was the perfect spot for a small picnic between lovers or couples, both old and young, and not only at night. Francis Bonnefoy only thought the night air added to the effect. He'd sat on this hill many times, both alone and with another, but it wouldn't be the same in his eyes after what had happened last week. He tentatively sipped the glass he'd snuck out along with a bottle of _Romanee-Conti_ from his home's cellar--he desperately needed to crack this open, expenses be damned. Taking another sip, he watched a star shoot across the sky, as if taunting him.

 

   
 _Pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere  
_ _Cause I'll dose off safe and soundly_

 Glass after glass was slowly drained as the night sky grew to an even deeper blue, to the point of black. The stars twinkled and shone with a pride that Francis no longer had now. His heart twisted and swirled like the liquid in the glass he was shaking in tiny circles. He'd been foolish and stupid and now he was paying the price for it all. A scoff; he deserved it but it didn't hurt less. Another scoff; he deserved every bit of pain that he'd inflicted. He deserved the memory of a strong body next to him on this hill, of light laughs and small smiles, of protective growls and angry yells. The blonde deserved to have his heart torn into segments like he'd torn the heart of who mattered most to him. A cold chill swept over him as he remembered the arms that used to encircle him, ensure his safety, and yet he did nothing for the other.

Yes, he deserved this empty feeling, this heart break, this deep regret.

" _Oui_. I deserve it, and will not blame you if you never forgive me. You forgave me so many times, but I believe you will not repeat it again."

 

   
 _But I'll miss your arms around me  
_ _I'd send a postcard to you, dear  
_ ‘ _Cause I wish you were here_

If Ivan did though, if this last message worked, then the man swore to himself that he would get it right. He, Francis Bonnefoy, notorious pervert of the French country, would cease it all for this one person.

 

  **  
~continue~**

  _I'll watch the night turn light blue  
_ _But it's not the same without you_

 Ivan Braginsky couldn't get him out of his head, which wasn't very unusual. He'd left his imprint on everyone, man and woman alike, both reasonably young and reasonably old. It left him with a dull ache in his chest and a light flutter in his abdomen to know that. Why did he have to fall for him of all people in this world? He'd even been warned by an acquaintance--Arthur Kirkland, he thought his name was--that Francis was nowhere near a possibility to have. Ivan had thought he could change the man, could make him settle down, to satisfy his urges. Yet he had been foolish and naive, and now he was sitting here on his porch, alone, with nothing but the new falling snow and the brightening sky.

_Sunrise will not be in France for several more hours._ That voice would say to him as its owner would bring out hot cocoa.

 

  _  
Because it takes two to whisper quietly  
_ _The silence isn't so bad_

He remembered how they would talk for hours when Francis came to visit. He remembered the scratch of his stubble as Francis would interrupt him with a kiss, having no reason for doing so except because he had wanted to. Ivan could remember being taken out of his frozen homeland and into the fresh smelling city of Paris, where his lover would take him to restaurants and to the top of the Eiffel Tower and to carnivals. He would laugh and smile and all the while, Francis would stare at him, whisper _I love you_ , take him to that hill where they'd fall asleep beneath the stars. There would always be a shooting star when the Russian was there--Francis claimed he never saw them otherwise. At the time, Ivan had believed him.

Now, he didn't know what to believe from these memories.

 

  _  
Till I look at my hands and feel sad  
_ _Cause the spaces between my fingers  
_ _Are right where yours fit perfectly_

He looked down at his empty hands, void of a cup of steaming cocoa, missing the warmth of slim palms and long calloused fingers. He wasn't smiling, even as snowflakes fell onto his gloves and dissolved on the heated fabric. His heart throbbed again. Briefly, he wondered if Francis was sitting there, on that hill, like they would be if Ivan was there now. He tried to brush the thought away, but it lingered like it had when the memories were there earlier in the night.

Most people, namely Matthew and Feliciano, believed Ivan to be as cold as the land he lived in. They believed he had high, unbreakable walls that projected his gentle smile and kept his violet eyes bright with color. Only he knew that this was partly true; high walls were placed around him and few ever freely were let in, mainly only his two sisters, but they were far from unbreakable. They were menacing to look at and held strong enough around others, yet they were brittle with age and only one person had managed to knock enough down to let him see that not everyone was cruel. Yet he only proved this same point.

Hands clenched.

A tear dripped down a pale cheek.

People were cruel. He'd been foolish enough to believe otherwise three times before this, but in the end, it seemed that people would never change.

Ivan Braginsky was always going to be abandoned--by his parents, by the friends he did not force to stay with him, and by the one person who made him feel safe and loved.

 

  **~continue~**

  _I'll find repose in new ways  
_ _Though I haven't slept in two days_

It took five more days of this repeated cycle from both sides of the broken relationship before Ivan was finally given a small envelope by his roommate. He couldn't remember which exactly it was--they had only said their names to him once before and he couldn't bring the strength up to recall it--but he remembered saying thank you. He still sat on his porch as he thumbed the envelope open, tears already stinging his eyes. Francis had never sent a letter before; he always asked for forgiveness in person, with passive tears and plenty of begging. Once, he'd even gone so far as to butcher the Russian language with his accent and poor pronunciation to get him back. That was the time before this one. The public humiliation made Ivan piteous and he decided to break his heart even more than it already was instead of pushing the problem out and mending his wounds.

It was noon in Russia when the letter was received, the beginnings of morning showing over in France, where the blonde male still lay looking up at the sky. He whispered the words he'd memorized from his letter almost in time to his former partner reading them.

**Ivan,**

**Forgiveness is not what I need. You gave me chances and I gave you heartbreak. You gave me love and I never once repaid you. You showered me with the greatest gift I could ever wish for and I shattered every bit of it. So I don't ask you for forgiveness this time, or friendship, or even an acquaintance. If you do not want to see me ever again, I will understand. I only want you to know that I realize my mistakes this time and I regret them. Not a day has gone passed that I haven't wished you were next to me on that hill and it's barely been any time at all.**

**Ivan, I do love you. I'm not good for you, or your health, but I do love you, more than the women whom I once flirted with or the men who flirt with me or even Arthur, whose heart I also shattered.**

**I know you still love me too. Every time I hurt you, Eduard would call to say so. This time was no different. This letter was written after the call and will be sent when I feel you'll be ready.**

  **I'll wait there every night.**

  **But I won't call for you this time.**

  **You're free of me, if you so wish it.**

 

**Adieu,  
** **Francis Bonnefoy**

 

  _Cause cold nostalgia chills me to the bone_

It hurt again. Ivan's hands trembled as he read the Frenchman's words over and over and over again. Toris Laurinaitis--the roommate who'd brought this very letter--watched him in the doorway as he trembled and shook, tears freezing over on his chin as the day grew darker. The Russian obviously didn't know he was there; otherwise he would have fled to his room. It was possible he was too gone to care. Francis had touched and warmed the stiffened heart with poetic words and sweet gestures, then took it for him. The Lithuanian simply stood there and watched his friend break down under the twilit sky over one letter, not daring to comfort him out of fear for getting his head bashed in with that magical water faucet.

  _But drenched in vanilla twilight_  
 _I'll sit on the front porch all night_  
 _Waist deep in thought because when  
_ _I think of you I don't feel so alone_  


  **~continue~**

Eventually, with the help of his two friends, Toris managed to get Ivan back into his room once his trembling had stopped and his tears subdued. He was calm again the next day, and the day after. The trio of friends actually believed that Ivan might be moving on now, instead of leaving to accept the man's apology yet again. Everything seemed to slowly fall back into place; the Russian was quiet and the Baltic trio was obeying him left and right when he did speak. He went to work as always, he came home in a rotten mood, he asked for food, and then he went upstairs until the morning. Toris would bring him breakfast that would go cold before he reached the top of the stairs on some days and would go uneaten on others. The trio did chores if they didn't have work or school, and conversed like they had before and during the Francis fiasco.

Everything was right again.

_"Then why does it feel so wrong?"_ It was what they were all thinking, but was too afraid to say out loud, especially if the older man was home with them.

 

  _  
I don't feel so alone_

 As he promised, Francis spent every night under the stars, thinking maybe, just maybe, he'd see Ivan waiting for him, or wake up to find his arms around his waist again. At each sunrise, he'd sigh when there was no warmth around his beltline, no need to sneakily slip away so he wouldn't be late for his internship at the University. The ache in his chest dulled as the days passed and the disappointment became more of a routine than anything, but he continued to have that sliver of hope. Antonio and Lovino had come to visit him once and he was anxious the whole visit--he wanted to leave to that hill but the two males were keeping him at home. The Spaniard had scolded him the next morning, saying that he was acting like a child and would wind up making himself sick over his own mistakes.

He either needed to make a move one last time or move on.

Francis, eventually, tried the latter. He went to the hill every other night and slept in his bed on the nights he didn't. The visits became less frequent as he adjusted to the new schedule, until it was once every two weeks, becoming more of a visit to pay respects than a visit to keep a love alive. No matter where he slept though, he found that Ivan was what put him to sleep; that sweet and thick Russian accent whispering the words in his ear, his own voice as tired as Francis usually felt by then. He shivered. It felt cold under his blankets.

"Oh _Mon dieu_...please, for both our sakes, forgive me, Ivan..."

 

  _  
I don't feel so alone_

 He forced back foreign tears.

  
_As many times as I blink  
_ _I'll think of you tonight_   


 "I'll think of you tonight."

 

  **~continue~**

Their paths did cross again, quite a while after their final break up. The trio Ivan lived with still thought the home to be empty, but most days they shrugged it off. Francis had continued his studies and his night routine had lowered to once a month, on the same day: the thirtieth of each month. For February, he went on the second and thirtieth of March. That way, come December, he'd be there for _his_ birthday.

By the time their paths _had_ crossed, Francis was no longer an intern and Ivan had gotten several promotions. He'd saved up his money and caved in to his sisters’ pleas to take them to Paris. In his mind, he thought nothing of it, having since moved on from Francis. He'd bought the tickets and they flew out there with no problems. Ivan showed them the Eiffel Tower, the restaurants he'd been taken to, the museums and on every tour they asked to join. The girls had, surprisingly, turned in early the first day there, and Ivan found himself wanting to stay out longer. He wandered around the brightly lit streets, adjusting his scarf occasionally. He let himself go where his feet took him.

  
_When violet eyes get brighter  
_ _And heavy wings grow lighter_   


A hill was where he'd ended up.

Specifically, it was their hill.

He wasn't sure whether or not he should've been happy. He could feel his heart flutter uncharacteristically and his bright orbs instinctively looked to the sky, waiting for that shooting star. He stood smack in the middle, where he usually sat and watched the twinkling stars, pulsing brightly for him again. His body felt like it was on the moon, floating up towards his beautiful stars and yet he felt like he was being crushed by an unbreakable weight. He didn't let the pain come back to him.

A certain blonde watched him from afar as his once lover watched the stars with just as bright eyes, the smile on his face real. He was absolutely gorgeous like this, like he remembered him. How long had it been since they had seen each other? If Francis revealed himself now, would Ivan leave? Would he stay, at least for this night? He took a hesitant step forward, the younger male not noticing him as more followed. He was still waiting, wondering if he could still see those flying meteors without his other half here beside him.

 

 

  
_I'll taste the sky and feel alive again_   
_And I'll forget the world that I knew  
_ _But I swear I won't forget you_

"Ivan." He whispered the name, still distant from the other. There was no need to scare him off.

A star shot across the sky.

Ivan turned to look at the blonde man, no longer looking carefree, but not looking solemn either. He had his neutral smile and gentle eyes on again, his walls mended and looking even more convincing than those months ago. He gave a nod, not trusting his voice to say a word or name. Everything was hitting him again, and hitting him hard--the days spent in this very town, the nights spent on this hill, the begging words in his home, the bleeding letter still under his pillow. It was making his throat and lungs constrict as he forced the gloss from his purple orbs.

"How have you been?" _I missed you._

Ivan swallowed the lump in his throat. "I am fine. I was taking my sisters to see the city." _Why are we talking again?_

"That's good. Family time is important after all." _I'm so sorry._

"…." He stayed silent. _I can't do this. It still hurts._

"Did you want to stay with me tonight?" _Say yes._

Another lump replaced the one he'd swallowed. Did he really stay out here all night? He'd kept his promise. All this time, he'd kept his promise and waited for him. _Don't say yes. He's luring you in._ "I... _Da_ , I would like that."

Francis gave a light smile and took his place on the cool grass, patting next to him encouragingly. Ivan sat by him, as if he had done the same yesterday and the day before. His heart throbbed painfully; tears jerked in his eyes again. They sat in a silence for the longest of times, staring up at the sky or gazing down at the ground. Cautiously, the Frenchman placed his hand over the other man's, patting it gently, curling his fingers around it. Said male let him do so, trembling at first but relaxing to the touches. He felt so broken and yet so peaceful around this man. The silence was more comfortable then, with their fingers locked and their breathing even.

A line was daring to be crossed between the two broken men. The silence went from comfortable to deafening as time passed, both of them treading on such thin waters now that all it would take was one slip up and someone would drown. Sunrise was creeping up in both their worlds, in both their hearts, in both their minds. Urgency was bubbling up; a feeling that this would be their last night to do anything about the feelings that lingered between them. Ivan's three roommates desperately wanted to see the Russian smile again, to see him look like a man and not a doll. Antonio and Gilbert and Ludwig, all the others that interacted with Francis, or both Francis and Ivan, wanted them to try one last time so the Frenchman could prove he'd changed for good and to keep him healthy.

The sun came before their decision.

It was now or never again.

Francis chose for them. He turned Ivan's head towards him and pressed the softest of kisses on his lip, nostalgia and memories flowing through the familiar touch on both giving and receiving ends. The younger's hands twitched with an ache to thread into the wavy blonde locks that tickled his cheeks, wrap around the strong neck to deepen this loving kiss. His lips quivered as he struggled to keep them shut and unresponsive, wanting to become one with the Frenchman again but refusing to allow his walls to shatter again. He held strong.

The kiss didn't last much longer once the initiator realized that he'd make a mistake. He pulled away to stare at wide and empty amethyst eyes, feeling more than a bit dejected. It was true now that he'd lost all of his chances--Ivan would never be his again. He watched as the Russian awkwardly stood and said his good byes before rushing away from the hill, away from the memories, away from _him_. It started as a brisk walk, but as the day continued to become brighter, he ran, wanting to greet his sisters in the morning. Too much energy exerted, he stopped for a moment, hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.

How was he to know it would be his last?

Early this morning, another was rushing on the streets like the foreigner, swirling around corners in his car. He was just as eager to get to the airport as Ivan was to see his sisters. He had his own life, his own plans, and his own wants and needs to see the people who mattered to him, out in Germany.

Feliciano Vargas never saw the panting man.

Ivan Braginsky never saw the speeding Italian's car.

Irina and Natalya never saw their brother after that day. They awoke to find him gone and immediately searched the unfamiliar city for him. The Police questioned the two girls, showing the damaged body and comforting them when they mourned their brother's death. They arranged his burial in Moscow; they paid for his funeral; and every year they gave a single sunflower to his grave with Feliciano, who had felt terrible for the pain he caused.

Francis Bonnefoy never saw Ivan after he left the hill. He never heard of the death that occurred that morning, having left the city soon after Ivan had parted from the world. It was a year before he finally returned to Paris, the pain dulled but not gone.

  _Oh if my voice could reach back through the past  
_ _I'd whisper in your ear:  
_ _"Oh darling I wish you were here"_

  **Fin~**

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any ooc in the characters--I'm still new to writing the Hetalia characters, especially Russia.


End file.
